


No smoke without fire

by FfionE63



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FfionE63/pseuds/FfionE63
Summary: Her clan is dead and half the world hates her; Ellana reluctantly joins the Inquisition for her own safety. Her history of hunting humans earns her few friends but when life as she knows it keeps changing she must put her trust in those around her, and plot her long standing revenge on a certain spymaster.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

The prisoner ran.Of course she ran  
"What do you mean the prisoner ran?!"  
The two hands of the Divine barely dispatched of chancellor Roderick when an agent hesitantly knocked. Cassandra's ire was unabating, and the young agent was visibly shaking as it turned on him. Leliana stood by uncomplainingly.  
"She didn't emerge when the elf-girl went to check on her. The cabin was empty. Charter's gone after her in the woods-"  
"Thank you. That'll be all," said Leliana and the agent looked relieved to be dismissed. He left the two alone after giving a terse salute.  
"I can't believe this!" said the warrior, exasperated.  
"No?" the Spymaster prompted, "She has little reason to trust us."  
Cassandra sighed, "When she agreed to follow us in the mountains, I took her for a girl who could see the bigger picture."  
"She may yet still. Come," said Leliana, "I think I know where she may go."

* * *

  
With deft steps Ellana move through the verdant canopy. She had put the lake behind her, and with it the vast body of pilgrims in scattered bases beyond Haven itself. Beneath the boughs now were only snuffling nugs and craggy undergrowth. Unblemished forest stood between her and her camp, and with it the thin vein of hope she had of seeing Sarian again, and the boy Seris who they had taken under their wing. She proceeded with ease, until an arrow whistled past her ear and lodge into the tree beyond.  
"You're not used to being hunted are you?" A voice called to her. She flattened her back against the tree, heart pounding against her ribcage as she waited for the assailant to make herself known. When a moment passed undisturbed, Ellana peered to either side.  
There was nothing of the arrow's source. Ellana could not even see footprints in the snow, but the broad fan of branches and needles covered much of her view of below. Her pursuer was an unknown and if she could not shake her, hope would fast shatter. She hurried along the branch, dropping at its tapered end to the thick offshoot of the tree ahead.  
The assailant's arrow was lodged three feet above in the rough bark. With practiced haste she ascended. In matching her speed, her pursuer broke the cardinal rules of stalking. Ellana caught easily the crunching sound of the icy undergrowth. Beneath the thick veil of pine needles was a woman in tan armour, with a full quiver on her back. She lingered long enough to see an arrow notched before fleeing again.  
She could not lead her back to camp. It was possible Sarian and Seris were both dead; she had heard nothing of them since the explosion, but if they weren't their chance of escape was slimmer if they had to watch one another. And if they were…. Then there were still the artefacts to take with her and they would take time to extract from its hiding space. Time, she did not have with an archer nipping at her heels.  
As if on cue an arrow soared upwards, grazing the soft skin of her forearm.  
"The situation's changed Lavellan! You're in no danger if you return to Haven immediately!"  
Ellana let out a yelp and cursed the slight dripping of blood on the bark. A trail was inevitable. Her only weapon was a stolen blade better suited for cutting butter than bodies. Still, she could exhaust the woman of arrows before confronting her. She recalled a rocky alcove by the river. Precarious ground. Full of cover and shadows, and far from here. She would lead her there and tempt her arrows all the way.  
She threw herself into the chase, committing herself to her role as the prey as she scaled and crossed the natural walkway of trees. In time the voice grew smaller behind her, calling out threats, or warnings, that she didn't quite care to heed. The arrows never missed their mark, but her pursuer employed them strangely. When she exposed herself to attack none came, and when she thought herself hidden arrows rained heavily forcing her to change course. When she found her own footprints and blood in the snow on a tree she did not recognise, she realised with a dull resignation that she was not being hunted. She was being steered.  
Her direction was in disarray. Exposed in the edge of a glade, she saw the silhouette of her assailant drawing near.  
So she ran.  
She trudged the last stretch of woodland, plague by the weakness of an empty belly and the stiffness of limbs that have spent days idle. And the surreal rift in her palm an ever-present reminder that something more ominous had her marked. But why...?  
'Why?' was a common question she asked these days.  
She froze above a familiar sight. A shallow ditched between two trees that had been their campsite. The place was ravaged. Scavenging hounds and pickaxes had tilled the earth, upturning traps and their paltry supplies. She knew by looking that her chest had been taken. What remained of her tent was a sheet of stitched halla skin, collapsed under the weight of snow. The fire pit was stoked and burning and within its amber glow were her two captors.  
They talked amongst themselves, both armed and pacing, but between the blood pumping in her ears and her shattered breathing she could not make out a word of what they were saying. She supposed it did not matter. She had lost. Ellana crouched low on the branch, the fronds sagging under her weight, as she passed the dagger between her palms thinking of her next move.  
She knew what her Keeper would say. "The only good shemlem, is a dead shemlen." It was why every elf of her clan, from hunter to herdsmaster was marked with the vallaslin of Elgar'nan. Vengeance was their way and looking down at the two Ellana knew she had business to settle. Creators willing, she could slay one of the women before inevitably dying by the other. Ellana was skilled but knew she was outmatched. These were to be her last moments. Reconciled to that fact, she positioned herself above her target, dagger primed. And after that they'd be no plaguing questions like 'why?'.  
The branch rocked. Ellana glanced sideways and found herself staring down the shaft of an arrow.  
"Put the knife down, before you do something you live to regret." It was a freckled elf poised behind the bow. She fixed Ellana with a stern looked that marked her as not to be trifled with.  
Ellana looked to the feeble weapon in her hand, and the vein of strange magic sitting behind it. Releasing the blade with a defeated sigh, it landed upright, less than a foot from Leliana. The hooded woman turned skyward to where two elves were perched in the upper boughs.  
"Ah thank you Charter," said Leliana peaceably, "I hope you didn't find watching the prisoner below your paygrade."  
Charter gave a smile, a short laugh, and then was all serious, "She took me for quite the run-around in the woods. I can't be certain we weren't followed."  
"Then we won't stay long. Would you perhaps join us on the ground? Some of us are not gifted climbers."  
The Seeker contributed with an impatient grunt. Charter gestured with her bow for Ellana to move. Of the two humans, Cassandra watched most intently as they shuffled from branch to branch. It was not a second after Ellana reached the ground when Cassandra marched forward.  
"You were given orders to head for the Chantry! I know you were told of this!"  
Ellana huffed, "Did you expect me to stick around and wait to be executed?! And I don't take orders from your chantry."  
"I expected you to see the greater threat! The breach remains! You heard the voices in the temple! You know there's more at stake!"  
"I did what I could, and it almost killed me! And if you heard the voices, you'd know you have nothing to keep me prisoner for. Let me go!"  
"It's not that simple." Said Leliana and the elf turned, narrowing her eyes in her direction. She was angry, but beneath all that she was afraid.  
"Like hell it isn't!" Ellana asserted, "You can start by calling off you dogs!" she made a point of shoving past Charter when she turned into the forest. With no weapon. No provisions. No aid.  
She going to get herself killed, Thought Leliana, before speaking with a strategic calmness.  
"Where do you plan to go with your clan murdered?" she asked. Ellana's legs buckled underneath her. She caught herself on a tree stump, steadying herself, before meeting the spymaster's eyes across her shoulder.  
"You know?" Ellana asked.  
Leliana nodded solemnly, "My agents searched your camp when you were still suspected. Seris has told us much about your time together. I think he'd like to see you again."  
"Did…Did anyone else come forward?"  
"No." said Leliana, and the simplicity of her answer brought Ellana to the forest floor. To her credit, she took the grief soberly. A few tears rolled down the curve of her cheek. Her chest heaved from ragged breathing but there was no indulgent display of wailing. The elf was composing herself when Cassandra approached, her gloved hand coming to rest upon her shoulder.  
"I cannot fault you for misunderstanding, "the Seeker conceded, all animosity gone from her voice. "We have given you little reason to trust us. But there is no lie when I say Haven is the safest place for you at this time. And we need you. Things are not as they were when you first closed the breach. The forces at Haven are acting apart from the Chantry to restore order as part of the reformed Inquisition."  
"The most of those that wish you harm have built a stronghold by the river," said Leliana. At her side, Charter eyed warily the perimeter.  
"And that stint in the forest may have tipped their scouts to your location. And they think you're unguarded," said Charter.  
"Then we should leave quickly." Leliana suggested, "we alone may not be enough if they arrive in great numbers." She turned away, and with a quick gestured motioned for Charter to follow. They walked toward the rim of the encampment whilst Cassandra looked between them and Ellana thoughtfully.  
"Make your choice Lavellan. You are our prisoner no longer." Cassandra imparted. She rose to join her colleagues. Ellana was set adrift, her soul stagnant in the ruins of her life. She called across the campsite accusingly.  
"I thought you said you needed me?!"  
Leliana turned. The others looked over the weapons on their shoulders.  
"What good would it be if you came unwillingly?" the rogue replied with an air of nonchalance.  
"Sister…" said Charter uneasily. She reached out to draw Leliana's attention, but the spymaster was already drawing her bow  
"I see them," Leliana said, "Ellana get away!"  
Ellana looked behind herself in time to see the first assailant stumble from the bushes. The unarmoured man choked on the arrow Charter lodged in his throat, his own shot veering harmlessly wide of Ellana. More figures poured out from behind the trees. Ellana could scarcely make a count of them before her ears tuned into the 'whoosh' of a volley fire.  
She scrambled as arrows pummelled the earth, narrowly avoiding their piercing tips as she slid into the ditch where she once slept. She looked up long enough to see Cassandra join the fray, meeting an armoured swordsman head on. Two mace-wielding pilgrims who sought to change the balance met with arrows as they foolishly raised their arms to strike. From one's waistband, a woodman's hatchet fell within reach. Ellana stretch over the mound, her fingers brushing over the wooden handle before a crossbow bolt forced her to withdraw. The bolt released a rising screech and then the earth around it exploded. Ellana fell under a shower of earth and stone, her ears ringing and the world spinning. It settled on Charter dancing between trees and bowman, drawing their fire and dealing damage with dual daggers.  
In the explosions the hatchet had wedged into the tree by her side. She was about to claim it when a hand clamped around her mouth.  
"Herald!" the man spat the word like venom, and besides him a large mabari barked in agreement. His other arm wrapped around her torso, trapping her limbs besides her chest as he pulled her away into the forest. Against his massive palm her screams came to nothing and each shallow breath became a victory as he held her in a vice grip. They had shuffled to an icy stream, the dog barking and nipping at her heel all the way. The sound of his baying brought forth an ancient nightmare, made all the worst for it being her waking truth.  
She wondered how far he'd take her; he could've killed her a dozen times by now. Not wishing to find out, she bit down hard.  
"Ah! Knife-eared bitch!" the man snarled and shoved her down the bank. The thin ice cracked as she fell. Pain shot from her elbow as she rolled onto her back, looking back at the man soothing his palm. She tasted his blood on her lips and the long-wanted air was stolen away as screams when the slavering hound pounced upon her. She drew her arms over her face, knowing well the futility of the act if the dog was ordered to kill.  
"Back off Calenhad!" said the man, "you'll have her later!" The hound retreated and in the brief seconds before his master accosted her she fumbled for a weapon, finding only a wet rock. The man pinned the straying hand under his boot as he glared down at her. He was Fereldan, wearing leather armour with a blazing sun hammered into the iron breast plate. Ellana winced as he drew his sword and pressed the tip beneath her chin.  
"You monster!" he snarled in still rage. He quickly shifted so that his knee was on her chest. The point of the sword replaced by the length. "My son was on that mountain! You killed so many people! I don't even have a body to burn!" Each word was wet against her face. He wept, as close to her face as was the blade to her neck. Calenhad circled, growling intermittingly. She prayed they were both ignorant to her hand inching towards his waistband. The blade pressed deeper, "but you won't even have bones left when we're done with you!" Calenhad barked eagerly.  
Ellana grabbed the dog-headed hilt of the dagger at his waist and with once swift thrust plunged it beneath his breast plate. The man stilled, shock silencing him, but the Calenhad continued where his master could not. Sharp teeth locked onto her forearm. The dagger was lost in the struggle and the strength of his jaw pulled Ellana out from under his master.  
The mabari's harsh tugging worked to keep her floored. Even so, Ellana staggered to her feet. Her free hand grabbed the besieged limb at the elbow. Any attempt to free herself prompted the hound pull vigorously. Her blood was spilling into the stream. A primal terror overwhelmed her; her heart beating beyond the confines of her chest as a power converged at her core, winding through the network of muscles and tendons until her marked hand flared. Erupting with an energy that sent both Ellana and the hound backwards by the force.  
Calenhad limped in the shallow waters. Ellana cradled her bloody arm to her chest before collecting her senses and leaping for the dagger. The hound growled and Ellana braced for the beast to lunge. Water splashed behind her and the mabari calmed.  
"Good boy," said the Fereldan. Ellana turned to see the warrior stagger to his feet, one hand clasping the wound in his gut, the other holding firmly the hilt of his sword. Which he promptly raised to the nape of Ellana's neck. Calenhad drew near, snarling incessantly.  
Ellana didn't hear the gurgle after the arrow found his throat. She heard him collapse like a sack of rocks into the silt shortly after, when the cold threat of the sword no longer pressed on her neck. She could not relax however, as Calenhad sprang towards her teeth bared. With both hand she clasped the dagger in front of her as the dog lunged. She fell backwards. The mabari's snarls giving way to weak whimper, and then silence as the dagger thrust into his chest.  
When the hound was nothing but dead weight on top of her, Ellana rolled him off and clamoured to her feet. She was cold, wet and bloody, intensely aware of the water rippling in the stream, and the bird song in the trees. The blood loss dazed her, and she was swaying when a lilac figure approached her from the bank.  
"Maker's breath! Your bleeding!" said the shemlem and Ellana swung the knife towards her cheek. Leliana caught the wrist, the blade an inch away from contact. If she was startled, it didn't show. She gently coax the dagger from her fingers. "Lavellan, the fight is over. You need a mage." She released her hand. In the sudden freedom, Ellana came close to falling. Leliana caught her and guided her safety to dry ground.  
"That's the last of them. How are things here?" Cassandra was coming down the embankment.  
"Clear," said Leliana, "We must tell Cullen and Josephine the matter with Ser Alwin has changed. Do you have potions?"  
"I do," the Seeker replied. As the rim of a glass was pressed to her lips, Ellana felt her strength returning. She pushed herself out of Leliana arms to sit alone against a rock.  
"Who the hell was he?" she asked weakly.  
"One of the faithful," answered Cassandra, "and as relieved as I am for you to alive, we are not better off for him dying. They will be disorganised now; less predictable, with fewer avenues for reconciliation. Your arm still needs mending; will you come with us?"  
"I will," said Ellana, "for now.


	2. Chapter 2

Raven’s arrived thick and fast in the days following the declaration of the Inquisition. There were defections, more than Leliana would like. Potential allies to inspect, not as many as she would like. Incoming reports of Chantry politics painted a volatile scene and there was still no word from either the mages or the templars. Another agent approached the Spymaster’s post and Leliana rose from her paper-laden worktop. He presented her with a small scroll, newly untied from the ebony bird on his other wrist.  
“From the agent of West Hill mistress,”  
She unfurled it, “Is this the only one to arrive?”  
“Only one this morning, yes.”  
“Then I thank you.”  
The agent departed, leading the raven to its cage. Leliana read over the minuscule writing.  
 _“Can confirm. Party of loyal templars and mages bound for the conclave found decimated on the North road three weeks prior. Rebel mages suspected. Investigation continues. -D”_  
Leliana flattened the message and added it to the growing pile of documents she silently labelled, ‘Lavellan’.  
She had been collecting information of their new ‘herald’ since before they had a name to work with. A description led her scouts to her camp outside Haven and the campsite housed the young elven mage Seris. Any mistakes about the two being relatives were quickly dismissed whenever the boy opened his mouth to talk. He had a marcher’s dialect and the twang of an alienage on top, whereas Ellana was Dalish through and through. It was Seris who told them everything they knew about Lavellan so far and she had sent agents to confirm his tale of Dalish bloodmages and Circle rebels. Ellana’s promise to him after their travelling party was slain had brought her to the conclave, though the Herald was proving tight-lipped on the matter herself.  
They had locked eyes perhaps twice since their jaunt in the woods; once had been their formal greeting in the war room where they discussed her upcoming excursion to the Hinterlands. The second time Leliana had been in her tent, bribing the young mage for information with some of Josephine’s Antivan biscuits when she caught Ellana watching sullenly from afar.  
Where her scope was limited, she could rely on her people’s diligence. Daily reports detailed Ellana as acclimating cautiously to life at Haven. Whilst the Herald hadn’t ventured far since the ambush, the elf took odd jobs and requisitions that took her to the fringes of Inquisition supervision. She collected iron for the smithy, ram’s meat for the larder. A most profitable evening for Leliana had been when Ellana struck an accord with an elven woodcutter, none the wiser to him being one of her people, and the two worked together to organise a logging stand. From their meeting she was privy to the detours Ellana took when fulfilling tasks. To the hours spent lingering at certain landmarks that agents would later find marked with Dalish insignia.  
Rendezvous points, she decerned. For friends who would not meet again.  
Against advice Ellana had attended the mass burning of bodies pulled from the temple. It was a formal service. Josephine arranged for even the resentful pilgrims at the river camp to attend peacefully and the presence of the ‘elven blasphemer’ risked tipping the scales irrevocably. Nevertheless, she was there. Unseen at first. Unknown until the Chant was sung on its closing verses and the masses dispersed. Ellana donned a cowl and sat cross-legged by the flattened pyre, a bed of ash and embers before her. That even her agents could say nothing of her whereabout spoke to a skill in stealth that may yet hold merit. Cassandra moved to sit alongside her, offering the security of her sword where she could not offer comfort. The two were silent as Ellana scratched out a hole in the coarse dirt and buried a single seed beneath the silt. Despite this moment, the warrior and the elf had not spoken since.  
Josephine emerged from the chantry. Entering her field of vision as a flurry of gold ruffles, the ambassador stood out amongst the snow and the soldiery. As the great oaken doors closed Lady Montilyet strode purposefully for Leliana’s open tent, the burdens of work plain on her face, and a familiar file beneath her arm.  
“Leliana. Thank goodness you’re here. I was hoping to speak with you about this dossier you prepared.”  
“The one on Lavellan? I gave you my latest.”  
“I know, and I know you’re still receiving reports. I was wondering, well, hoping really, that something new had flown in? Perhaps something to discredit these accusations.”  
Leliana knew well the accusations she referred to. Information on a specific Dalish elf was hard to come by. It was a simple matter of the Spymaster not having people in the right places, but information on the Herald was scarce enough for her to confidently assume Ellana had been no one of note amongst her own. However, the clan name ‘Lavellan’ was turning up more threads to pull. For the most part the clan was elusive, with years between them being accounted for in human records. But in these recorded intervals cases abound with village raids, foul magics and kidnapping. The lengthiest accounts were sourced from Chantry sanatoriums; accounts of half-mad peasants stumbling out of the forest, pale, scarred and miles from home. That clan Lavellan was often mentioned by name and not by the ambiguous ‘Dalish’ moniker was a telling thing. Her agents’ job since has been to filter the facts from the fables, but they were still building a damning tome. To Josephine, Leliana shook her head sadly.  
“Maker!” said the Ambassador irately, passing Leliana to the row of crates against the tent’s flailing canvas. She sat on the folded fur, dropping the dossier onto her lap as something best forgotten. “We have little enough good fortune on our side as it is!” Leliana came down beside her.  
“I take it rumours are piling up?” she asked knowingly, taking and thumbing through the file.  
Josephine hummed affirmingly, “You know, growing up I had often heard stories of violent Dalish clans; I always took them as exaggerated.”  
“Many stories can be dismissed as frauds or local superstitions getting out of hand. Perhaps Ellana’s clan was unusual.”  
“I wish she was around to ask. Have you seen her since the funeral?” she asked and in response Leliana pointed behind her.  
Josephine’s breath hitched and stomach rolled as she whipped her head around, expecting to see the fabled Herald approaching. Then she followed her friend’s pointed finger to the chantry rooftop where Ellana’s pale mask of Dalish ink ducked away on being seen. The sudden tension abated, and Josephine turned back to Leliana who was wearing a contagiously wry smile.  
“I passed her the other day after meeting the Marquis. Invited her into my office, thinking it would be good for us to get to know one another. She backed away as if the shadows would swallow her!” The two succumb to a soft laughter. “In all seriousness, how are we to present her as Andraste’s herald if we can barely get a word out of her?”  
Leliana thought on this; at least if she’s silent, she wasn’t saying the wrong things. “I don’t think she’s had much experience with humans.” It’s been within her notice that Ellana was selective with her company; if she kept any at all. She’s had a few ‘animated’ discussions with Solas by the apothecary, she was even at ease around Varric, but avoided Cassandra like the plague and the Seeker was most invested in testing her skills before they departed.  
Josephine huffed, “Well then that needs to change!”  
“I’m sure it will,” said Leliana. Josephine was not appeased, “Give it time, Josie. Cassandra’s expecting to lead the party through a lot of conflict zones on their way to Mother Giselle. Violence is bonding, for those of us who are not staunchly pacifist.”  
“I hope you’re right,” she conceded.  
“As do I. If not, we’ll try a different approach. As for the rumours…” said Leliana. She rose with the file, splaying it open on a chest alongside Lavellan’s papers. Picking up the morning’s scroll, she meant to add it to the file but found herself scrutinising the text anew. “The boy said Ellana and her partner were rescued, gratefully so, after the templars in his travelling party caught word the clan was rife with blood mages. They travelled with them, healing from their wounds and hoping to find another clan when that convoy was destroyed. Then they took a single surviving boy and promised to return him to his people. Perhaps that’s a fiction we can build on? Build sympathy?”  
“It may help. I would like to consult her first. Is everything alright Leliana?” she asked, after the Spymaster had not turned from her musings.  
“Why keep the clan name of your captors? Why not take the boy with them in their search for a new clan? The Dalish do not fear mages.”  
“Minaeve says they don’t like too many…”  
The purple hood shook, “There is more too this,” Leliana said with certainty. With a suddenness Josephine rose and in three quick steps was besides her.  
“You still suspect her?!” asked Josephine, her voice low and alarmed.  
“Of something,” Leliana confirmed, matching her tone. “Not the conclave but she’s hardly forthcoming about her past.”  
“You said it yourself Leliana, she doesn’t have much experience talking to humans. If she was truly captive as the boy says, then maybe we shouldn’t pry.”  
“And if she’s complicit in the death of his convoy, can we afford not to? Think about it, Josephine. If someone erased all of House Montilyet except you, wouldn’t you seek retribution?”  
“Is this before or after I blackmail them into poverty?” answered Josephine, surprised at the heat behind her words. She waved the thought from her mind, “It doesn’t matter anyway. You saw her fight Ser Alwin and found her wanting, how could she possibly fell a caravan of armed templars and mages by herself?”  
“She wasn’t by herself then. And against Ser Alwin, she was unarmed.” Leliana said pointedly. She recalled the tip of a dagger mere inches from grazing her face. “Neither Cassandra nor Cullen have tested her skills in training, she hasn’t given them the opportunity. And that mark!” she let the point hang. “We’re depending on her to close the rifts, our reputation and our soldiers may be vulnerable to her at any moment and right now the only investment I see her having in our cause is her own safety!”  
“Is that not enough?” she protested, though it was half-hearted.  
“Not if one day she thinks she’s found something better.” Leliana closed the file with an audible slap, passing it off-handedly to the Ambassador and her eyes settled on the iron-bark chest. It was an alluring find, as were most locked things in her experience. Once it may have had a gleaming white coat but now it was old; all charred wood and dented metal. Runes lined the planks, each worn and half-filled with dirt. It was grating she had not yet been able to open it. Remembering Josephine, she turned, looped her arm around her middle and walked her to the tent’s edge.  
“Bury the rumours for now,” said Leliana, “I will ensure the Herald is speaking to you after she returns from the Hinterlands.”  
“What will you do?” asked Josephine, clutching the file to her chest. She walked ahead as Leliana lingered by the supports.  
“I’m not sure yet,” she replied, and scrunched her brows mimicking thought. She sensed Josephine’s unease.  
“Well, whatever you intend, make sure she wants to talk to us when she returns,” she insisted, “Tread poorly with her and I fear the next olive branch she’s offered may well be better in her eyes.”  
Leliana simply nodded in assent, “I’ll see you at dinner.” She remarked and watched as Josephine turned back to the chantry. When the flurry of gold disappeared behind stone walls, Leliana called for her agent.


	3. Chapter 3

Cassandra dropped her weight onto the stone ridge, wiping the sweat from her brow once the skirmish met its end. The wolf pack, previously luminous in possession, regarded their release with the keen intelligence of their species. They looked between their fallen kin, the looming giants with their weapons drawn, and fled with their tails between their legs.

Wolf Hollow was peaceful for their departure, the basalt columns forming a beautiful landscape of cavernous alcoves. From the upper ridges spilled leafy and flowering foliage, and the air thrummed with the gentle rustle of leaves and bird song. It was moments like these, when the rush and the simplicity of battle were subsiding, where Cassandra was free from doubt. Moments of stillness where she was grateful, truly grateful, that the Maker had carried her this far.

Then Ellana kicked a dying wolf in the gut.

The Seeker tutted, "Is that really necessary?" Ellana looked over with a shrug.

"I hate wolves."

"So I gathered. I would even say you relaxed when that fear demon sprung out of the ground. How is your arm feeling?" asked the Seeker. The mabari's bite had since healed. Not even a scar remained but Cassandra observed the way the Herald was besieged by fear when the wolves first howled in unison and suspected it had unnerved her more than she let on.

"Spry and glowing," said Ellana, and she made a show of stretching her arms out in front of her before sheathing her blades. Their breathing settled. Without a battle to bind them, Ellana shot the seeker a thin smile, then paced toward the mage Solas who was rooting through the ragged remnants of the fear demon.

Cassandra slumped back defeatedly.

It had been like this since they left Haven. Battle broke barriers but peace built them up again. Day by day, they were lengthening the intervals where Ellana was at ease enough to speak of things beyond the task at hand, but too much of their time was spent riding in silence. At least their apprehension around horses was mutual. Even so, she could not grasp the ease with which Varric and Solas engaged the woman.

_I made a poor first impression in judging her,_ Cassandra thought solemnly, pulling out a cloth to wipe down her blade.

Varric neared, hitching Bianca to the harness on his back, "Feeling lonely Seeker?" he quipped.

"Hardly."

The dwarf huffed out a laugh, "Really? Here I was worried you might be feeling a little sour at our herald picking favourites."

She rolled her eyes, "It's no matter to me who Lavellan takes as company," she explained, "I asked her to work with us to close the breech. If she wishes to withhold her friendship, then I do not resent her that; it was never a part of the bargain."

"Friendship isn't something you bargain for. You-" his words were cut short as Ellana and Solas drew near. Ellana was turning over an amulet in her hands while the mage was stuffing luminous rags into his pack.

"Did the two of you find something?" asked Cassandra

"Just a few items for study, Seeker. With the demon dead I suspect the wolves will be their normal selves again," said Solas.

"The farmers will be pleased to hear of it."

"And Solas thinks this might be enchanted to repel wolves." said Ellana, dangling the amulet between her fingers for all to see.

"A personal trinket then?" Cassandra suggested.

"Actually, I was thinking the farmers might barter something for it. Shall we head back? Tell the horsemaster the good news."

Cassandra stood, sheathing her weapon. "In the morning," she declared, "I will send a runner. For now we will need what little daylight remains to write to Haven regarding those towers. Then rest. Tomorrow we follow the mage's trail. I doubt they will remain idle with the templar stronghold dealt with."

With an itinerary set, the four left the hollow, Ellana and Solas setting a pace which set them apart. Cassandra and Varric were halfway down the valley when the dwarf drew near to speak.

"What I was trying to say was, perhaps you've been too rigid with the girl. You're not interrogating her anymore."

" _I've_ been too rigid?! I think you and I have been speaking to a different woman."

"She can be a little stiff, I'll give you that. But these things take time. Time best spent best spent over a couple of drinks and a deck of cards. Seeker, I have a proposal."

"Varric, we are in the field. If you are suggesting drunkenness while the Hinterlands burn around us I will – "

"-easy, Seeker! I would never suggest something so recklessly uninhibited. With you around it would fall of deaf ears anyway. Wicked grace. I'm used to weekly games but the few people I've roped into playing are too busy most of the time and our two elven nomads have never heard of it. I told them the next time we have an evening off I'd show them the basics. If you'd agree to pass off some of our chores to the extra muscle around camp, that evening could be today! You could even join." Varric put forward the offer like it was a pouch of precious gold before a pauper, gifted with no sinister catch. Dryly unimpressed, the Seeker's eyes flitted downwards, a fleeting twitch of disdain.

"Tempting as it may, it is not befitting for us to pass on to others what we are unwilling to do ourselves."

"Ah! You're such a spoil sport."

"We are not above our soldiers out here, Varric. We mend our own armour, fletch our own arrows, sharpen our own swords. We do not inspire loyalty by shirking chores to play card games."

"Isn't the glowing hand in front of us inspiration enough!" said Varric, but he knew better than press, "Fine. Think on it, Seeker. There's always tomorrow evening."

_Some evenings later._

Ellana was wading in one of the deep recess of the pool, breaking the mirror image of the receding sun with each idle motion. The camp still laboured as she bathed, so she listened to the shuffle of scouts and soldiers. A natural screen of rocks and winding grasses set the pool apart from the camp. Being Dalish, she was not unaccustomed to bathing with an audience, though her clan had never watched as attentively as her prescribed watchwoman. She wondered what she saw that enraptured her so? Ellana had seen many humans before with tattoos such as her own, and her present company boasted darker scars than what the forest left on her body over the years. Perhaps the archer had never seen an elf before. Perhaps she also thought herself unnoticed but Ellana caught her swift evasion whenever she turned in her direction. She supposed the soldiers also thought her unknowing of their gossip about her, but the slightest sound travelled well in the quietening camp.

"Have you seen her yet?" asked one voice beyond the rushes to a returning scout.

"Seen who?"

"The Herald!"

"She's camping here?!" the voice ascended.

"For the past few days now. Everything they've said about her is true! Andraste's mark closes the rifts!"

"You've seen it?!" the scout asked, his voice filled with wonderment. In the pool Ellana sunk to her ears beneath the water, deaf to all but the pounding off her own heart. Peering into the green rupture in her hand, white bolts of magic flared incessantly in the tear that possessed an unfathomable depth that did not belong on the smallness of her palm. Looking into it was like looking into an infinity. She wondered if even her Keeper could determine its nature.

She rose. Treading water, she pulled back her damp hair, finding the gossip of soldiers having ebbed away. Soon after, Varric's voice carried through the grasses, "You almost done Herald? Any longer and you'll be learning the cards by moonlight."

"I'll just be a minute," she hollered back, and took a final dunk beneath the waters. She emerged the other side of the pool, walked the pebbled embankment to where her clothes were spread above a log and pulled each article of clothing, minus boots, over her damp skin. Rounding the pool, she approached the break in the tents which most regarded as the camps entrance and found Varric and Solas sitting one side of the campfire. One of the dwarf's meaty palms pointed and bounced between suites of cards laid out on the turf for Solas to gander. The other was wrapped around a canteen, which, by the heady stench around the fire, did not contain water. He regarded her approach with a smile.

"Ah, you're just in time. Solas was about ready to try his first hand."

"A moment longer Master Tethras," he interjected, "you suggested I take from the deck to improve my hand; does that not constitute as cheating if we are permitted only five?"

"Don't think too much on it Chuckles. Its only cheating if you get caught. Now, move over. Lavellan needs some space."

Solas looked her way before shuffling over on the log. Ellana sat down besides him, leaning forward to feel the warm waves of the campfire wash over her damp skin.

"So how do we start? Have I missed much?"

The storyteller passed over the canteen over the fire without pause. "You start with a swig of this, and no you haven't." she accepted the flask gingerly, the liquor burning a trial down her throat. She shuddered, returning the canteen the man chuckling beyond the floor of cards, "if fact we're still waiting on – Ah! Here she comes now."

Ellana turned, stifling a cough and following his gaze to where Cassandra was drawing near.

"Cassandra?!" said Ellana. "I - had no idea you were joining us." She watched the Seeker tense, her face betraying a sense of painful uncertainty, half-masked by the rising ink of night. She had never seen the woman out of her armour before, but she had forgone her shell of steel, approaching the trio in her soft leather undercoat, that may have been doeskin for all Ellana knew of armour-smithing.

"I invited her," said Varric, "Figured the more of you who learn tonight, the better odds of me getting at least one decent player out of you by the time we get back to Haven. There's no problem is there? I would understand if you were hoping for some one-on-one tutoring."

"No, not at all," Ellana said hastily, gesturing for the Seeker to join them. She sat beyond the fire whilst Ellana joined Varric in collecting the cards from the ground. "So how do we play?" she asked when they rose, and he was skilfully shuffling the deck.

"To start with everyone take five cards…."

….

"And there we have it," Varric slapped his cards to his thigh triumphantly, "the angel of death card. Guess I win again."

"Angel of- But you've drawn that card three times in a row. Ugh, I must be missing something," said the Seeker, her face contorted with utter frustration. Varric smirked behind the rim of the canteen.

"What can I say, at cards I am a master. Count yourself lucky we weren't playing with coin Cassandra."

"How different is it if we play with money," Ellana asked from across the fire. Colouring her question was a strange innocence as she dropped her poor hand of cards on the ground next to Solas's.

"Most likely, you'd lose a lot of it," Varric answered, then quickly dismissed some thought with a sweep of his hand, "Bah! Coin's only for keeping score really. The real prize is good company… and the potential for embarrassing stories revealed under the influence." The dwarf rattled the canteen for emphasis. A shallow pool of liquor sloshed within.

"Really," said Ellana, "we've been here all evening and I've not revealed anything incriminating."

"That only puts you in debt Lavellan," Varric said teasingly. He outstretched a hand to collect the cards, "Let's fix that. A question or two. We're almost dry anyway."

"I admit, I do not know much about you," Cassandra said in agreement.

"Whilst I would like to stay, there Is a matter I must see to in my tent," Solas added. He bade his thanks and farewells before departing.

"I do hope that matter is fade related," said Ellana mirthfully, "I should turn in too." She rose and rounded the campfire. On passing Varric, the dwarf reached out, halting her, and signalling her to sit where Solas once had.

"Hang on, Ellana. You can't get out of it that easily."

The elf sighed, dropping to the floor as she looked between the two. "What is it you want to know?"

The silence went long unfilled. Then Cassandra asked, "Where are you from?"

Ellana arched a brow, "Did you forget I'm Dalish. I'm from pretty much everywhere."

"Have you never called a place home?"

Ellana inhaled sharply, remember the field of bodies, "Not anymore, no. Isn't this something you could ask Leliana about this?"

"I could. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I do not want to ask her. If I were to hear it, I would prefer to hear it from you."

Ellana sighed pensively, "I think my earliest memories were in Fereldan, but I remember little of it. There was the blight and afterwards I kept to wherever was safest."

"So home is wherever you are?" Cassandra suggested. The elf slowly nodded, and a brief smile pulled at the Seeker's lips at feeling something of an accord with the sentiment.

Between them Varric uttered a low hum, "Perhaps a story then, rather than twenty question. Hey, has Cassandra told you about that time she took down a dragon at the grand Cathedral?"

"Ugh. I will not tell that again," the Seeker bemoaned, but a cursory showed Ellana's interest had been peaked. The firelight danced in the glassy eyes, wide as they fixed on her, seeing her anew for all the time they'd travelled together.

"A dragon?! You fought a dragon?!"

"Yes. With help. My position as the Right hand was a reward for my part in foiling a conspiracy against the divine. But this was many years ago."

"How are you not dead?!"

Cassandra looked on astonished, "I've trained to be a warrior since childhood, and as I said, I had help. That's not to say it was easy. I earn many scars from that battle."

"Like the-" said Ellana and gestured to her cheek. Cassandra nodded.

"Yes that one too. But I got that from falling rubble not a dragon's claw," she explained. "You have a few scars I've noticed. Did you're clan quarrel much with humans." Cassandra half expected the elf to clam up as she had done half a hundred times before. It was not until the question had left her lips that she realised it might be too sensitive a question, but then again, the young woman did initiate it. Against her expectations, Ellana started to smile ear-to-ear. Then she bit her lower lip and dipped her chin to her collar bone, overtaken by some warm feeling wholly separate from the crackling fire.

"The clan scrapped occasionally, I took part in a few but most of my scars are from before then. I made a poor choice in lover when I was younger," Ellana explained, and took note of Cassandra's subtle gasp before resuming.

"My mother had recently passed, and I was travelling alone. Our clan didn't survive the blight so I didn't know what to think when I met another Dalish but I met a young hunter when we we're both following a boar's trail. He offered, and I agreed to hunt alongside him and split the kill… He had such interesting stories about his clan, I didn't believe half of them. Anyway, one day on the hunt became two, became three. We had a wonderful evening in a little nook above a waterfall but when I woke up the next morning my bow was broken at my side. I watched him throw my blades over the falls then he was stuffing my arrows into his quiver when he told me I have until the sun rises over the mountain to run before he starts hunting me."

"Hunting you?!" exclaimed the Seeker. Varric shot her a berating glance. "How did you get away?"

"I didn't really, but I guess it all ended in the river. We fought. For I time I managed to keep his head underwater, but his clan had been nearby, and archers trained their bows on me. I thought I had drowned Sarian but the Keeper healed his injuries and I was locked in a pen for days before being released. I've been with them ever since. Or at least I was before…Well, a lot happened since."

"Why didn't they kill you? Or Him? Was he not apprehended?"

Ellana shook her head as if it were a mild dispute over weather, "Sarian and the Keeper were both adamant that I was in no real danger from him; that any potential clansman hunts and is hunted before earning their vallaslin. I had told him a lot about my life when we we're hunting; guess he assumed I'd want in."

"That's…. a little messed up Ellana," said Cassandra, Ellana shrugged dismissively.

"That's life," she said, "is that story enough for you Varric?"

"It'll do, Lavellan, it'll do," answered the dwarf with a glad smile.

"Good. We've shared, now it's you turn."

"Me? What do you want hear Herald? I've got a tale or two".

Ellana didn't spared a minute, "What's behind the name of your crossbow?"

"Now and forever, I will never tell. How about this? I once asked Hawke about the first time he smeared blood over his nose before a fight. He lived with his family in a village called lothering when some bandits set up camp in the woods beyond the highway…."

The moon was high, and the fire close to petering out when the three retired for the evening, their tents as warm and inviting as the company they were forming.


	4. Chapter 4

Ellana woke staring into the weeping socket behind the templar helm. Blood marred the polished steel. Blood marred the grasses. Blood marred everything. With trembling fright she peered above the limber stalks and all about her there were bodies. Old bodies. Young bodies. Rotting and bloody bodies. An echo of elves long passed lay slain beneath the swords of templars and the maws of savage beasts. A chorus of deafening howls pierced the air and Ellana rose like a whip before the crack. She fled through the field, through the blackened carcasses of aravels and the hot smoke that rose into the emerald sky. Amidst the haze Ellana turned, and turned again, always away from the chatter of blades near and far. Her heart was racing towards oblivion, her back bowed beneath the pressing weight of fear. A tuft of mangy fur brushed her bare arm and she yelped in alarm. Her groping hands found the burnt frame of a landship, it was cold beneath her touch, and she sought shelter beneath the collapsed mast.

"It wasn't like this! It was never like this!" she cried into the ether. Nestled in amongst the ashen rags of the sail, Ellana hid behind her eyes, unable to escape the clash of memories playing out before her.

A roaring shockwave tore through the smoke. Within an instance the heat that surrounded the aravels became a cool wind. A figure, beyond the grey, waved a branching staff, parting the smoke. In the field between them stood the spirits that had been haunting her, frozen in the likeness of elf, man and wolf in mimicry of two battles that never co-existed.

Warily, she stepped out of the crumbling hovel. Shielding her eyes from the vibrant skies she looked upon the man drawing near. A looming silhouette was outfitted with both a staff and a bow. His oval face, both painted and scarred became more defined as he closed the distance. A wolfish grin plain on his face.

"Sarian…" said Ellana, as silent as a sigh. She threw herself into his waiting arms.

* * *

Sarian's hand was flat against the small of her back. It was a touch that would free butterflies in any other context, but gazing over the precipice, across the sickly green abyss on which the distant islet floated, his touch, his guiding hand, left a stem of nettles in her throat. She was looking out onto the gallows and her feet were determined to stay rooted to the rocky outcrop.

"Sarian, I'm really not sure about this. Just show me how to get back," said Ellana, mastering her nerves that this strange place had set affray.

"The only way back is through Elllana," he told her calmly, but in a tone that invited no question, "It'll be easier than you think. Give me your arm." His calloused hand left her back for her palm. Holding it like a gentle dove, he pulled back her curling digits with his thumbs, and using the same he trailed along the tear. The mark thrummed electrically, more alive here than she had seen it anywhere else except beneath the breach. It was not a comforting thought. "You come into quite the power. Haven't you?"

Ellana scoffed, "Not intentionally," Sarian responded with a hum, his dark eyes never moving from her palm. "I just wish I knew where it came from. Or what it's for. I might sleep a little easier."

"I can show you. Picture a bridge, and command it to rise between this island and the next," said Sarian, pointing with his free hand to a forested island beyond the ether. His other remained loosely looped around Ellana's wrist guiding it up and out towards the chasm.

Ellana strained to think. In the forest there had been no bridges. The first she had seen was a human construct. She held that image in her mind, her thoughts broken when the earth began to rumble.

"Focus," said Sarian, and Ellana closed her eyes, "No!" he chastised, "you must look." Ellana swallowed back the scolding and fixed her gaze on the distance isle. She altered her stance when the ground trembled anew. her palm pulsed magic down to her shoulders and she stood amazed as chiselled stones erupted from the lower reaches of the islands, drawn to one another by snapping currents if magic, each cracking like thunder as it bounced between the stones. The stones came together, fulfilling her mind's blueprints of arches and watchtowers, tiled roofing and Fereldan oak doors carved with hounds. Shapeless wisps and spirits whizzed past them, eager to take form and imitate the guards and pilgrim Ellana remembered flocking to Haven over a bridge of this very likeness. Sarian dropped her wrist and looked over yonder with a face splitting grin. "Yours is a power not even dreamers can dream of. Come, the Keeper should be on the other side."

"The Keeper?!" Ellana exclaimed. Too late, for Sarian was fast halfway down the bridge.

* * *

Up close, the forested island was not as pleasant as it had seemed from afar. Naturally greenery ceased three trees deep, beyond which the woods were thick with black, distorted trunks. As if the forest had been scorched some time ago and the black bones had never been cleared. Winding between the trees was a beaten path that Sarian strode down leisurely, using the butt of his staff to push back brambles.

"This way," he called without looking back. Ellana hurried to his rear.

"I'm no fool Sarian," Sarian acknowledged her with a hum, "I saw the Keeper cut down. You never came back for me after the explosion. This is the fade. And you are both dead. So who are you and where are you taking me?"

Sarian, or that who was much like Sarian, turned and addressed her non-pulsed.

"We did die. And now we are here. Where all Elven souls are to wonder until Falon'din finds us on our journey. Which will be a while I imagine. Gods being locked up and all."

"Am I dead?" asked Ellana as dread dawned on her. Sarian laughed.

"You are powerful lethalin," he replied, "Can we move on?"

They continued on the path. All was silent save for wondering spirits, enacting half-forgotten memories that reached her ears as a ghostly chatter she couldn't decipher. Sarian noticed how it display unnerved her.

"Don't fret over them. Who we want is through here," he said, and he pushed the bony branches. The forest opened out onto a small clearing with a tent at its centre, joined to an aravel. Drawn as she was to the homely site, her attention was equally tuned to the magical wall by its side. A gaseous barrier of opaque energy stretched from tree to tree, the power within moving like an upwards waterfall.

The tent flap opened and Sarian beckoned for her to enter. She lowered her head and walked into the dusky chamber. It smelt of herbs and lavender. It smelt of blood and magic. A hunched figure sat on a low white chest beyond the mast, his hood masking all but his bony chin, his wiry fingers, inked to the tip, tented as the human do when praying. The slender hood tilted, and with that small gesture Ellana knew she had been acknowledged, knew what was expected. For a long moment she was gripped with uncertainty. This was the fade, and so much had changed. The moment passed and she succumb to the wellspring of emotion she had been holding in for weeks. She approached, dropped to her knees and kissed his feet.

"I didn't dare hope of ever seeing you again," she did not fight the tears that fled the corners of her eyes. The hooded Keeper laughed low and harshly.

"Hah! The 'herald' has not forgotten her place after all! Good to know. Up girl. I would see the time for formalities be short. However brief your stay must be, we should celebrate. Sarian! Bring the chalice!" Sarian ventured outside for a moment, returning with a wine filled chalice before passing it deferentially to the hunched Keeper. He invited him to stay, so Sarian joined her on his knees on the carpeted earth. With unshared magic the Keeper suspended the chalice between them, freeing his hand to retrieve a needle with one, and draw a drop of blood from the finger of the other. It fell into the chalice as the keeper offered the needle's prick first to Ellana. As a bead of her own blood dropped into the chalice, she wondered if blood was still blood when given in the fade. Sarian made his contribution and the keeper clasped the chalice once more, bringing the rim to his lips and uttering a silent mantra. He sipped and raised the cup, "To kin!" Ellana drank deep, mirroring the phrase as required. It ended with the cup once more in the keeper's hand, her passed it once more to Sarian, who poured the remaining contents into a brazier. The veiled head addressed her, speaking sadly.

"It is good to see you Ellana. So many of our clansmen were slaughtered. Know that I am pleased that you survived, and more so to see who you've become. There is an important matter we must discuss. You and Sarian possess something of mine. Something you took from the ashes of our home." His bony fingers tapped on the chest he sat on and Ellana's breath hitched. "Be at ease Da'len. As you can clearly see I am in no position to claim it. No doubt you intended to pass it on to the next Keeper you found. Barter my knowledge and skills to become kin to another clan. Know this lethalin, no keeper is worthy of the gift I offer. Our knowledge would whither in the hands of milk-livered mages, like so many treasures of Arlathan that have been lost to the ages. You alone I trust to see its full potential. My knowledge will be your inheritance, my gift and final order to you. Say yes Da'len. Let this old man rest in peace with that knowledge."

"As always Keeper, I fear you overestimate my skills. I'm not a mage. I'm not strong or scholarly. Another Keeper will know best how to use the knowledge our ancestors have gathered. And…I long to be with a clan again. I long for-" she could not help the sidelong glance to Sarian loitering silently about the tent, "us." The bony hand came down on her shoulder.

"Take my knowledge and a clan will come to you. And I will be with you always." The hand retreated, Ellana brushed the place where it had been.

"Well," she began, "I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious." The Keeper's laugh warmed her heart.

"And glad am I to hear it, child. You found the key on my body yes?"

Ellana's face soured, "We…couldn't find your body."

"Well, that complicates things," he said with a sigh. "Worry not," he insisted, "You will find it sooner rather than later. One more thing. Help me up da'len." She obliges, "A boon for you. One more gift before I depart."

"The collective knowledge of our ancestors is a generous gift Keeper," said Ellana.

"It is, it is. But the fade offers things intangible to the material world. Not only that, I am worried about you. About the company you keep."

"Keeper…" said Ellana, wondering if she should protest.

"That! That there! That uncertainty. You should never have forgotten the nature of those shemlen you're travelling with. That is why you need this gift. A stern lesson."

"Keeper, there are big problems in the world when I wake. I can't solve them. They're the only ones I know who at least _seem_ to know what's going on."

"They are a means to an end. Let them be nothing more. Go outside I will fell the barrier. Knowledge is the greatest gift of the fade. Once, our people would spend centuries studying amongst it. Go. Learn what was once forgotten." He waved for her to leave. She was by the entrance when she turned back. Not for the first time, she wondered who she was truly talking to. To her kin, dead and wondering the fade. To some spirits, imitating those she most wished to see. In this moment she did not care.

"Thank you," she said to them both, brushing the tear from her cheek.

"Do not thank me," the Keeper rapped, "you will not thank me."

Ellana returned to the entrance quizzically, pushed back the heavy canvass, and walked out into a world wholly different to the one she had walked in from. The wall of magic vanished and made larger the forest clearing. The sprawling Dalish camp was fringed by towering unblemished pines. A chill Fereldan breeze whipped through the branches, carrying wild earthy scents with sickly overtones from nearby. The camp was abounding with spirits, but as with the Keeper and Sarian, Ellana saw the likeness those long dead. Mithra guarded the perimeter, Lanaya, roamed between patients in a pavilion set aside for the sick. Further in, scores of elves plied their trades, crafting and mending. Around a campfire a dozen or so children sat on the earth before an elder listening to histories, singing songs. It was were she was meant to be, so some compulsion told her. She followed her feet forward, whilst her eyes strayed towards the pavilion, to groaning patients in their sickbeds, as she once had long ago.

"Ellana? What have I told about approaching the wounded!" a voice reproached her. Ellana turned and looked up, _looked up_! to her father's stern gaze looking down on her. She stepped back, startled, and tripped on the hem of a dress she hadn't been wearing minutes earlier. His expression instantly changed to one of earnest concern, as he leant down to aid the young girl to her feet. Ellana looked down bewildered at the child's body she was bestowed with. "If you won't listen to Sarel you should help out your mother with the halla. I won't see you by the sickbeds anymore Ellana, it's too dangerous."

"I'm sorry father, I wanted to help," said Ellana, forgetting herself. From a leather pouch at her waist band she pulled out a hand full of bruised elf root leaves and held them forward. He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. He dropped to one knee, his sword clanging against the soil as he did, and took the leaves from the child.

"I'm sure these will help," he told her, "now go find your mother."

She nodded gleefully and ran towards the centre of the camp. When training warriors forced her to pause, Ellana came to her senses, the girl in the middle of the camo regained the mind of her elder self and concluded that things did not have to play out as they did last time. If fact she'd rather they not play out at all. The Keeper was right, Ellana will not thank him for forcing this memory upon her. It was not like the nightmare she had escaped earlier, this memory was seductive, a strong part of her wanted to stay even knowing what would soon fall upon the camp. She would go to her mother, tend to the halla. She would see her father standing watch on the ridge before a cacophony of snarls and screaming separated them forever. Ragged werewolves would pour through camp, bringing death with bloody maws and claws. And she and her mother would flee with a single halla, narrowly escaping through the forest

It didn't have to be like that this time.

She stood sentinel on the ridge, long passed when she had intended to join her mother. Her mother and Elora were tending to a single halla when a commotion to her right capture her ear. She approached the thick congregation of warriors and archers, not breaking through, but rounding the barrier they formed behind Keeper Zathrian. The pack of werewolves were slavering at the jaw, their ferocity barely contained by the spectral woman speaking peaceably ahead of them. Ellana caught the tail end of their conversation,

"My people will be cured when we rip the heart from your chest!" Zathrian boomed. Here in the fade, his fury was her fury, and Ellana regarded the vanguard of the werewolf hoard with palpable venom.

"You will end this curse, or you will all die!" The foremost wolf snarled.

Ellana, as a girl, reached for her blade, forgetting there was no scabbard at her waist. Unarmed, and with clearing mind she was taken aback by a stranger sight; humans, battle-ready, within the body of the hoard.

"Never! Never! You shall suffer as I have suffered! You, and all your descendants!" Zathrian's words hung in the still air between them, mingling with the waiting snarls of the pack. In the silence, the fate of things to come was decided. She watched her father, weapon drawn, approaching the ranks. Infused with the familiar fear, not quite convinced that this vision could not harm her, not quite wanting to see what came next, Ellana retreated from elf and wolf alike. She had not taken three steps before the order thrummed the air.

"Attack!" the wolf commander uttered, and the wolves pounced into a barrage of arrows. They ran through her, the spectral actors somehow privy to her not conforming to how events played out, passed her by without notice. Unnerved by the strange sensation of spirits flurrying by, Ellana sought out a space of inactivity in the trees thinking, thanklessly, why the Keeper had sent this memory to her. She closed her eyes against the slaughter.

"Cammen! Gheyna! Over here!" her eyes snapped opened at the familiar voice. She saw her father goad the young couple to the ridge. Gheyna disappeared beyond but the young hunter turned his bow towards the slaughter. The attempt drew the ire of a nearby wolf. The beast pounced, felling and thrashing the boy with razor claws. Her father raised his blade against the werewolf, lifted it high for a mighty blow.

An arrow found his heart.

His limbs weakened and fell dead; the beast mindlessly passing him by in search of other prey.

As so the battle went on, elf by elf, slaughter by slaughter and for Ellana the memory gave no relief. She found herself looming over the imitation of her father's corpse long after the battle had ceased. The victors, wolves and shems, poured through the camp for wares and valuables, clearing the bodies with little grace or ceremony. Time came for her father to be removed.

A human woman reclaimed the arrow lodged in his chest.

The woman she knew as Sister Nightingale.


	5. Chapter 5

The camp, come morning, was still, save for the soft patter of the watchman pacing. Cassandra woke, bathed and dressed. When she returned to camp others had woken. Several men stoked a fire strangled by the morning mist; their fellow stirred a large pot of thick porridge with a peeled back branch as tall as himself. Down below, the refugees of the crossroads were livening with the rising sun. Soon Lavellan and the others would waken, and they would prepare against a bandit encampment in the south. She returned to her tent, to her breastplate and greaves, and was adjusting the straps when a messenger approached.

"Seeker Pentaghast. A message." She handed her the miniscule scroll. Cassandra had the message unfurled and was reading when suddenly, urgently, Solas emerged from his tent. The elven apostate strode purposefully through camp, towards Ellana's tent. He unfastened and peeled back the partition, just as quickly letting the fabric drop as he turned on his heel, eyes scanning the camp before fixing on Cassandra. He advanced.

"Where is the herald?!" he asked frantically.

"She's not in her tent?" Cassandra replied. Lightly clenching the message to her side she marched to her tent, seeing for herself the empty bedroll; leather armour and weapons abandoned besides it. She closed the flap. Solas was fast returning with his staff as Varric sleepily emerged form his tent in his underclothes. Cassandra approached the distant watchman sitting on a wood cutter's stump.

"You. Has the Herald passed during you're watch?" she demanded, trying, and failing, to mask the urgency in her voice.

"No, Seeker," he replied, at ease, "It's been an uneventful watch."

Cassandra took her leave, meeting Solas at the heart of the camp.

"Seeker, something is very wrong."

"I see that. What do you know Solas?"

"Too little. I was among friends in the fade, seeking out knowledge of nearby artefacts when a great power disturbed the fade. The residual energy resonated in a manner not unlike Lavellan's mark. I woke, feared the worst, and as you have seen Ellana's is clearly gone."

"But gone where?! The solider on watch has seen nothing and she's left her equipment behind."

Solas paused thoughtfully, "I fear she may have entered the fade physically. Meaning if she lives, she may be anywhere."

Cassandra squared her shoulders, inhaling sharply. Varric approached the pair, his chest hairs dancing in the gently breeze.

"What has you two up so early? Has our illustrious Herald awoken?"

"Get dressed Varric!" Cassandra said severely. "We have work to do."

* * *

Ellana coughed up a lung full of dust, hurtling herself backward from the elven ruins she was just now seeing for the first time. She fell flat on her arse, her hands raw and burning. Her airways settled and she looked down on the dark abrasions on her palms and fingertips, the weeping sores on her foremost knuckles and the displacement of some fingerbones. She seethed through her teeth, seeing the thin spatter of blood across the collapsed pillars obstructing the ruin's entrance. Through this, persisting viscerally, was the nagging compulsion that she need be on the other side of it.

Instinctively she reached for her waistband, for a pouch of potions that was not there. Instead she found her corded breeches, her muddied nightwear and nothing more.

_Had there been a battle?_ She thought to herself. _Was camp far?_

Each flex invited a mini wave of agony. One thing she knew clearly; she needed a healer.

"Solas." She croaked, then cleared her throat, "Solas!"

"GGGGUUUURRRROOOAAARRR!"

_Demons!_

Ellana went as quiet as a field mouse, as taut as a deer sighting the bow. She bit back the pain and made herself small behind the crumbling wall. A broad-leafed fern shaded her as the demonic purr and prowl caressed her ears for some time to come. Despite the danger her body sank into the sweet sensation of rest. How long had she been wakeful for her to be now so wantonly weak? She used the intermittent waves of strength to pluck at the nearby elf root. Her little and ring finger weakly tugged at the stems and each heart-shape leaf brought another moment respite from her injuries.

Perhaps she slept.

The sounds of battle did not disturb her either way. Nothing stirred her before a warm energy washed over her, teasing her fingers to right and purging the weakness from her senses. She blinked, suddenly aware of the elven woman cupping her hands at the tips. Her face was marked by June, and a mage's staff flared at her back. Ellana groaned, and the woman leaned back at ease.

"Andaran atishan. I did not expect to see another Dalish out here."

"Where even is here?" said Ellana blearily. She took the offer hand and rose to standing. They stood on a small flagstone forecourt. Piles of ember and soot littered the path towards the collapsed entrance.

"Lost your bearing to a fall, did you? Or a fight? You don't seem prepared for battle. I am Mihris. They call this place the Hinterlands. Redcliffe in the nearest shemlen settlement. Are you from the clan nearby?"

"Ellana," she answered. Then the words hit her, "There's a clan nearby?"

"I believe so. I've been following the insignia on the trees. Clan Virnehn fell to a demon; I've been searching for another to take me in. Then the breech happened."

"My sympathies. I lost my clan to shemlen."

"What brought you out here, if you are not with or searching for the Dalish?"

"I…" she strained. How much had the past hours blurred, "…was searching for something. Something that's behind here," she surmised, and pointed with her fixed fingers to the blocked archway. Besides her Mihris's brows arched.

"Perhaps we search for the same thing within these ruins. I have heard of elven artefacts with some connection to the veil. They may reveal when new rifts emerge, and activating them may strengthen this area against demons."

"I doubt we're after the same thing, but these artefacts sound useful. Why are you certain they're one here?"

"I was first in my clan. I've studied extensively," she explained, and turned to the obstruction. "What this need is a little…" Mihris raised her hands, palms surging with power, and the toppled pillars that had been such a barrier to Ellana moved liked paper on a breeze. The mage clapped her hands, satisfied. "That takes care of that."

The two walked tentatively into the dark entrance hall, halting as the cone of daylight at their backs revealed the beginnings of a staircase either side of them. Bones lined the chamber, but the ruins were far from dead. Further in, low guttural caws and groans murmured echoed through the ruin wall and Mihris addressed her anew, speaking in low whispers.

"Perhaps you should head back, find safety. There's not much you can do against demons, dressed as you are."

There was sense in her suggestion. As it stood, Ellana couldn't fight of a chill, let alone a foe of unknown skill and number. But still, there was the calling, emanating from some low place in her core. It shook her, exciting her veins, and her mind justified; _there's as much uncertainty outside as there was further in._

Ellana grabbed a sword from a pile of bones. It was ancient and blunt, and with such a weapon she had no skill, but it would do.

"Well, I'm armed now," she told Mihris, and the older woman gave her a look that seemed to say, _It's your funeral._ "You're a mage," said Ellana, "Got a way of lighting this hall?"

"Maybe," said Mihris. She opened her palm to the air, waving her fingers around a hidden breeze. She continued to an ancient sconce and summoned fire. She grinned, not just at her success, but at the strangeness of the green flames dancing in the wall bracket, "Veilfire," said Mihris, "I never thought I'd see it in person. Grab a torch. We can light our way thro_" The mage paused, and Ellana quickly caught on to what troubled her. One by one the wall scones illuminated of their own accord. First those in the antechamber. Then those lining the staircases. It became bright enough for them to look over the ruined railing and see the scope of the lost elven hall.

And the dozen shades looking back at them.

* * *

To Varric, concentrating on sleeping was a paradox, but Solas was adamant that it was precisely what he needed right now. The trio had made their excuses and left the inquisition camp early morning, hoping to leave the soldiers none-the-wiser to the herald's disappearance. They had travelled to the ruins of Calahad's foothold. Solas rested on his pack, having assured him and Cassandra that the veil was thin enough here to make his efforts easier. Still he offered no promised.

Varric sat on a weed-ridden old staircase, technically guarding the sleeping mage, actually tinkering with his crossbow bolts. He was feeling both hungry and nauseous at the way of things and Cassandra wasn't helping. The warrior was spending the hours pacing the fortresses courtyard, her hand never leaving the hilt of her swords except for brief intervals. Those being when she sat or leaned against the castle walls to bury her eyes in the fine print of a scroll. Soon after she'd clench her firsts to her side and repeat the cycle again. Varric honestly couldn't tell if she was angry or terrified. The next time, she sat near to him.

"Willing to tell me what's troubling you Seeker?"

"You know what's troubling me Varric. The same thing that's troubling you, no doubt."

"What will happen next? You know, if Solas can't find her."

"Right now I do not want to think about it. We will give him the time to find her. As much as we can afford," said Cassandra. She closed the scroll and walked the perimeter once more.

In time, Varric turned at the soft noises behind him. Solas rose with his staff and noticing his wakeful state Cassandra hastily attended.

"Solas, what is it? What news do you have?" she asked of him.

"I know where we must go."

* * *

"What should we do?" asked Ellana but the shades ascended faster than they could anticipate. Six either side and a trio of wraiths down below. Mihris summoned a wall of fire to the staircase either side of her and cast a trio of blasts from her staff to the wraiths down below.

"There's too many of them!" said Mihris. Soon after one shade, undeterred like the others, barged through the flames, rising above it head two flaming fists.

"Look out!" yelled Ellana, putting herself between the two and bringing the ancient blade down on what, for a man, would be a shoulder to waist cut. It was like slicing through sea foam; the cut was evident, but ultimately no damage done. She won time enough for Mihris to conjure a rocky fist, sending the shade hurtling back beyond the flames and knocking back the five demons on the other side.

Another breeched the wall at their right. Ellana acted fast. She wielded both the hilt and the blunt edge of the blade, charging forward and forcing the shade beyond the blaze in a shieldless bash. She did not anticipate the shade pulling her back in turn.

"Ellana!" she heard Mihris call. She tumbled down the stairs. She smelt the singe of linen and a pale fear came over her when she looked up the staircase to a half-dozen shades turning towards her. Their distorted palms raised and Ellana shielded her head. Their shades roared in pain, as their attacks bounced off a barrier. Ellana looked over the stunned demons to Mihris, the mage glowing, much as she was, in a shielding blue aura.

"Are you alright?!" she called down, looking between Ellana and the shades held back by her flames.

"I've been better," said Ellana. She rose and claimed the wayward sword, the ancient metal wreathed in flames by Mihris's hand. Ellana raised the blade, plunged it into the core of the first stunned shade. The flames took root, spreading along purple tendons until the demon was engulfed from the inside out; dying with a trombonius howl. She plunged her sword into the second. The third. The fourth clubbed her around the head and she narrowly avoided as second impact against the stairs. As it happened, she landed at Mihris's feet. The mage edged backwards, her firewall dwindling as she faltered. The shades approached.

Ellana swung the blade, dimly conscious to their dire state. The pair were stranded on the narrow slip of staircase. Three shades encroaching from below. Four from above. And no exit in site.

A high whistle pierced the air. A thud. A boom. A chain of demonic groans rang out behind her. Above fell the remnants of an explosive bolt. She heard Varric's 'whoot' echoed through the antechamber. Cassandra pummelled through the staggering survivors, wielding her sword and shield with greater finesse that Ellana could ever muster. The shades before her tilted their shapeless heads, dimly registering the change of events. She gave a firm kick to the body of one, sending it and its peer tumbling down the lower steps. Mihris rained fire from above, her magic joined by a second staff; Solas had her back. They brough the shades to their death moans.

At its end Ellana stood amongst six piles of ash. Cassandra and Varric hurried to the lower levels, scouring the perimeter for threats. Mihris approached, patting her shoulder comradely.

"You did well shielding us back then," said Mihris. Ellana shook her head.

"I think we just got by by the skin of our teeth." The mage nodded and passed her by to the lower level.

The tap of Solas's staff echoed in the ruin.

"What do you remember?" he asked of her when near.

Ellana thought on this with the feelings of one who'd been caught in the cookie jar. She remembered so much, but couldn't will a word to pass her tongue.

"I had a bad dream," she explained, and Solas's sharp eyes studied her fiercely.

Magic whirred and dispersed in a wave from the ruin's end.

"I think it's working!" said Mihris gladly. She loomed over a verdant crystal, shaped like a globe besides an altar. Solas looked on in clear elation. Cassandra, less so.

"What is this magic, you unleased!" she said to Mihris, her sword never sheathed. Mihris looked towards Ellana requesting defence. It was Solas who answered the call.

"Relax Cassandra," he implored. Ellana kept a few feet behind as they joined the others on the lower level. "This is the artefact I've been searching for. The veil should be stronger now with it active."

"Truly?" she inquired.

Ellana let his explanation slip into the background. Intuition called her to root amongst the bones. Mihris did similarly at the chamber's other end but Ellana was not searching blindly. Looking over the bones sent her veins pulsating, legs and hands moving, searching for the direction that would placate the rhythm.

She groped the bones.

Her veins heaved.

_Not there._

Beneath the dusty banners.

Another pulse.

_Not there!_

Behind the broken vases.

_Peace._ Almost euphoric. She looked upon not bones, but a body. Still old, and naturally mummified. About its neck was a familiar ornament; a keeper's amulet; a key! Ellana snatched it up eagerly, tying the cord around her neck and dropping the pendant beneath her shirt so that the pendant rested between her breasts. She righted herself and looked about the ruins with benign curiosity, wondering what this chamber was once used for.

A hand came down on her shoulder. She turned to see Cassandra regarding her sternly.

"Are you alright Lavellan? Can you tell us what happened?" she asked, not unkindly. Ellana had no answer.

"I don't suppose you brought me any clothes?"

"Shockingly it was not a priority," said Cassandra.

"Right," Ellana accepted dryly.

"What is a priority is our return to Haven."

"Haven?" said Ellana.

"Yes, we are returning by request, and by necessity. Ambassador Josephine sent a message this morning. She wants to act on Mother's Giselle's advice. And whatever happened with your mark last night, cannot happen again if we can help it."

"I just woke up here Cassandra. I don't know what happened."

"I know," said Cassandra, "and I won't pretend to understand the magic in your mark, but we stand a better chance at Haven. Perhaps more books have arrived from the capital since we left."

"What about the rifts here?"

"We are leaving soldier," she assuaged, " they can protect the people from demons while we see to affairs no other can. And we have cleared the rifts in the most populated areas. It will do for the time being."

Cassandra turned to leave, leaving Ellana in thoughts of all the work undone; the bandits in the south, the cult in the hills. Then she thought of what was awaiting her in Haven; the Keeper's chest and all it's promises, the chantry's scrutiny, and Sister Nightingale…. What was she to do with her?

Or she could pursue Mihris; find that clan at the end of the insignia.

Oh how nice it was to rest beneath the shady fern.

Cassandra caught her lingering as all the other's turned to leave,

"We can never save everyone Lavellan," said the Seeker, and Ellana followed her lead.


	6. Chapter 6

Early mornings were nothing new; nor were all night vigils. Even so, Cullen was wrestling with the strain behind his eyes before the sun had risen above the treeline. It was not strictly his duty to be up in the dim hours of the mornings; his Second was a competent woman, well regarded by the night's watchman, but he could not bring himself to sleep easily with the threat of demons so near, his sword unwielded in his hand. He needed his wits sharp for the Inquisition, sharper still if he was to continue without lyrium.

The morning drills did little to soothe his temper. Few of their recruits were disciplined men-of-arms. Many belonged to the retinues of nobility, pilgrims to the conclave, their masters lost to the explosion and their livelihood thrown to the winds. He was having them train the raw recruits, the displaced, the impassioned faithful fleeing rifts and following their 'saviour'. There were a few more each day, soon they would outnumber the skilled unless the Ambassador or the Herald worked their magic.

Within the mass of sparring soldiers one ex-farmboy swung his sword to the oncoming blade like he was swotting flies.

"You there! There's a shield in your hand, block with it!" he called to the boy, all the while skull was thrumming. Amongst the clashing of arms, the Commander dimly registered two men approaching.

"So, these are the Inquisition's soldiers? There's more than I last saw." he was Orlesian, Cullen recognised him as the marquis of Haven Josephine had been working on since the breach. Though not a diplomat, Cullen was mindful to keep his demeanour as inoffensive as possible; he didn't need the Ambassador adding to his headache as well.

The assistant who attended the marquis could not be more the Commander's opposite; a man barely out of boyhood, limber framed with wired spectacles and a painted face. He didn't need telling to know this boy was the younger son of one noble or another, employed by Josephine as the cost of resources or future favours. He wondered, quite joylessly, when his own ranks would be bartered off to make ends meet.

"Tell me Commander, do you truly believe these peasants are capable of avenging the Most Holy?"

"With enough training, yes," he replied. Whilst the flailing farmboys falling beneath veterans did little to install confidence in a bystander, Cullen saw much of himself in a scrawny youth with dreams bigger than his arms could carry. The marquis guaffed behind his mask.

"An optimist! My father was a fighting man. He once warned me that too much hope, without merit, would lead to disaster on the battlefield."

"My arms master assured me that training and faith was all that stood between a peasant and the greatest knights and chevaliers," Cullen saw the marquis inhale sharply, preparing to rebuke the insulting suggestion that the nobility and the common could be anywhere near equals. Josephine would not approve. "Fortunately for us theirs no shortage of eager faithful willing to take up the sword," said the Commander, he dismissed himself and walked amongst the soldiers. He corrected the stance of a black-haired boy, the grip of the shield held by an older woman, and a number of other small flaws as he weaved between the sparring soldiers, making his way to the lakeside.

_Perhaps Josephine could solicit more trainers…_ he thought to himself as he looked over the frozen waters. Within the dense thicket of trees beyond, tendrils of smoke reached into the sky. _Rebels_ , he thought sourly _, or are we the rebels?_ He considered. Nonetheless the disgruntled faithful were still amassed in the forest. It was the division between men, though not entirely unexpected, that was a most painful disappointment of recent days. _Templars and Mages. Demons._ He wondered which was the messier problem to solve, or if there was even a difference anymore.

Breaking his thoughts was a small figure running out onto the lake from within the forest. It was a scout. Scrambling up the snowy docks, she was about to pass him by when he stopped her with a hand upon her shoulder. Between her ragged breathing she suddenly recognised she was stopped by the commander.

"What do you have to report?" said Cullen, he feared the worst, only to be pleasantly relieved.

"The Herald's party Commander, they're approaching."

* * *

The return journey felt shorter than their departure. Ellana spent much of the daylight hours learning to co-exist with the beast escorting her first through fields, then the rising hillscape. Horsemaster Dennett gifted her with a satchel of cox apples so that the herald might stay in the mare's good graces, and perhaps get him into hers.

Cassandra insisted on a certain nearness ever since the hinterlands; it was evident that the power of the mark unnerved her, but not more so than the thought of losing its wielder entirely when its power was still so sorely needed. Ellana hadn't slept alone since then, and barely slept even so. They were now officially close enough to know the colour of each other's underwear; not that Ellana was ever fishing for those details, she had them nonetheless. However intrusive the company had become, Ellana could not deny she had missed sleeping with the sound of another chest rising and falling next to hers. She could close her eyes, listen to the whip and rattle of the canvass and think of home. All that was missing was a pile of elven children sleeping around them for warmth and drunken Dalish battle songs ringing out from the campfires.

She had heard the humans sing. It wasn't the same. All she had heard of the Chant of Light had been so lamentful.

It was not uncommon for Solas to ride close for short intervals, prying ever so tactfully for some fragment of her experiences in the fade. There was little she felt at ease confiding but eventually she relayed to him how she called a bridge into being from nothing so she could escape a nightmare. This answer did not dissuade him as she had hoped. There was a palpable wonder in his eyes, an excitement that told her this conversation was far from over. She rode ahead when the opportunity presented itself. Simply put, she did not share Solas's enthusiasm for the beyond; it had given her far too much grief in so short a time.

There was one little joy the fade brought her.

She drew the pendant from beneath her armour and stroked along the aged wood. It reminded her of a skimming stone; round and flat. Beneath the threaded cord a pale crystal bulged either side; one side was sharp, and that she kept pointed away from her flesh. Running from top to bottom were two parallel grooves in the wood, ending in a pair of tiny hinges. For all her fumbling, Ellana found no way of opening it.

"I thought you'd sold that thing?" said Cassandra veering behind her shoulder.

"It's a new one," said Ellana, and in a swift motion slid the necklace back beneath her shirt.

It was afternoon when Haven came into view. The lakeside village was girted by canvass sprawl where not by hills and woodlands. It all seemed…bigger, then when they had left. They came upon the foremost watchtower, a huge stone bridge, one Ellana privately noted as her 'dream-bridge', where the great wooden gates were drawn open by standing watchman. The second opened soon after. The rocky bluffs were in sight, marking the final turn before Haven, when Cassandra brought her horse to a trot; slow enough so that she and Ellana were soon besides one another.

"There is something I need to tell you?"

"Yes…" replied Ellana apprehensively.

"A message came with the last scout. Ambassador Josephine means to meet us at the gate," said Cassandra. When the Herald was unresponsive, she added, "With nobility. Your attendance is expected."

"Me? Since when do humans want an elf at their meetings unless they're serving them? I've no business with them."

"Since a rather petulant one climbed out of the fade and posed a threat to the chantry's power with her every breath." She chided, "And yes, you do have business with them. Likely more as our influence grows." She watched the elf freeze on her horse, so the Seeker remedied, "People want to put a face to the legend. Josephine is well experience in her field. It's not likely she'll put you in a situation where you are out of your depth, it would not be fair to you or aid our standing amongst the nobility. And since you've been reluctant to work with our advisors so far, I suspect this meeting will be a short one."

They turned the final corner. Ellana faintly registered the beating of the anvil by the distance stables and sat upright in her saddle. Further on, like a line of dolls, stood an entourage of humans, finely dressed in sombre colours beneath a half dozen distinctive household banners.

"Any advice?" she asked Cassandra in a quiet voice as they drew near to the stables. Despite her own nerves, the Seeker was unfathomably composed.

"They'll do most of the talking for you. Nobility love to discuss they're own grandeur. Relax," said the Seeker. Stable hands came to meet them, and they climbed wordlessly off their horses. "Are you ready?" she asked. Ellana nodded and the seeker clapped the young woman about the shoulder as she took the first tentative steps toward the waiting congregation.

As a 'lady', Cassandra approached courtly formalities with reluctant obeisance; eager to be elsewhere but mindful of the needs of the moment; provided that moment did not ask too much of her. Before the audience stood advisors three, Ambassador Josephine the foremost figure. As they drew near, Ellana feared choking on her own tongue. Despite Cassandra taking the lead, Ellana felt the eyes of the gathered follow her stride. She was suddenly conscious of the flaring mark and clenched her fist in a vain attempt to still it. Ahead of her Ambassador Josephine broke composure long enough to look worried before addressing Cassandra.

"Seeker Pentaghast, Mistress Lavellan. Welcome back to Haven. I trust you had a safe journey?"

"We did ambassador," said Cassandra, then she turned to address the nearest representative, "We owe much to Caer Oswald's men on the road. They carved us a clear road through the demons,"

The nobleman gave a small, demure nod, "Think nothing of it Seeker Pentaghast. It is an honour to aid Andraste's Herald however possible in these dire times."

"This and many other things we must discuss at a later hour," said Josephine, "For now, may I introduce you all to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the breach. Mistress Lavellan, these are among Divine Justinia's greatest supporters. Their presence has been invaluable towards our inquisition."

"I had no idea you had gathered such allies," Ellana said tentatively, hoping it was enough.

"We've heard of the miraculous endeavours you performed in the Hinterlands. Sealing the rifts; it is hard to deny Andraste's favour for you Mistress Lavellan," said one nobleman.

"No doubt you are tired after your long journey. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow my staff to escort you through the grounds. They'll be other times for acquainting." said Josephine to the gathered nobility. One by one they left under the escort of a personal steward. The last to leave, a young nobleman, Fereldan, with fiery hair, lingered a little longer.

"Would you be joining us for dinner, Mistress Lavellan?" he asked, his voice rolling warmly across the mountain air, "It would mean much to discuss what troubles the world with the woman blessed to be its saviour." Of all that she was unprepared for she could not foresee what the noble did next. He reached for and bent down to kiss the back of her marked hand. He kissed with the passion of one long acquainted with the recipient and in the shock of it all she was transfixed.

Nearby Josephine arched an eyebrow. _This is definitely not etiquette._

"I-wouldn't miss it," said Ellana, when the man righted himself. _Why did I say that!_

"Until then," he replied, and left with his escort

Ellana was wiping the hot saliva onto her overcoat when the Ambassador approached donning a silent smile.

"I apologise for the young Lord Byron's familiarity," she said warmly, "he's here at his father's behest, and about as experienced in formal matters as yourself I fear,"

"I don't go around snogging people's hands!" she said defensively.

"And for that we are most grateful," replied Josephine, a small chuckle in her throat. "And thank you," she added earnestly.

"Hmmm? What for?"  
"For attending. I don't know how Cassandra convinced you to come but it is appreciated."

"Ah, she only told me before we arrived. I didn't realise I had a choice."

Hearing the seeker's name prompted her to seek her out. She found her standing between Leliana and Cullen by Haven's foregate; the three discussing things inaudibly. Her eyes flittered to the veiled spymaster and for a moment Ellana felt the full weight of her scrutinising gaze. Just for a moment. Then Ellana began wondering if she had truly seen it at all. She felt a sharp disquiet to look upon her, every beat of her heart fanning a timid flame to grandeur. Josephine coughed into her wrist and apologised, and Ellana began thinking about food.

"Anyway I can get out of dinner tonight?" she asked pleadingly.

"I will inform Lord Byron that you have taken ill, but a quiet night in for yourself would save me having to cater to his feelings of offense," the Ambassador explained,

"Don't worry," said Ellana, "I plan to sleep for a week; no one told me riding a horse would be so uncomfortable."

"One more thing," said Josephine, as the elf passed her by, "I would appreciate you visiting me in my office once you're rested. I would like your input on a few matters that I cannot postpone for much longer."

"Okay," said Ellana, and she shot the Ambassador a thin smile, "I'll think about it."

And then she left.

Entering Haven, her first thought was to head for the tavern. Of all the things she found strange about sedentary living _this_ was a strangeness she could fast appreciate. Casks of ale, beer, cider. Red wine in dark green bottles. The nobles and robed sisters kept stronger stuff in elegant glass decanters. In her clan scarcity made a hierarchy. Liquor was for elders, choice warriors and perhaps the rest got a drop on special occasions if they could not make their own in their aravels. Even in this small human village decadent luxuries were so plentiful Ellana fought back drooling. But as she passed Leliana at the foregate Ellan turned her thoughts to the vacant tent by the chantry. She touched the key beneath her garments, just to be sure it was still there. Entering the spymaster's workspace, Ellana found it scattered with parchment as it had ever been. Raven's squawked as she approached.

"Hide it. Hide it." One Raven said.

"Talk! Talk!" cawed another.

A third mimicked a pained scream that spoke of the grim side of the spymaster's role. One Ellana pitied anyone on the other end of.

She approached the workbench where weeks prior she had spotted the Keeper's chest in amongst Leliana's papers.

Panic struck like a bell clapper.

She checked beneath, behind boxes and bales of straw. The worktops were bare of anything but paper and bird droppings.  
 _It's gone!_

"Herald?" it was the familiar voice of Leliana's freckled underling. Ellana turned. Charter stood firmly at the tent's opening. "You shouldn't be here without the Spymaster. Information here is sensitive."

"Where! Is it?!" demanded Ellana, the once timid flame in her chest now as heady as a blacksmith's furnace. The elf beneath the awning was unfazed.

"Where's what?" she asked mildly.

"The box! My box! The one that here! The one that she's taken!" said Ellana in quick succession. A moment paused caused her to wonder where this rage had come from. A moment more and she wondered if it had been there all along.

"Is something the matter here?" Leliana's soft lilting voice followed her into the tent. _Wrongly soft! Wrongly kind! Thief! Murderer!_ Ellana was faintly aware that she was shaking, limb to limb. Some commotion was underway infront of the Chantry, but she was deaf to it.

"You took something of mine," said Ellana in a concentrated monotone.

"Really?" said the spymaster. She approached and deposited one file in amongst the others. Ellana recoiled to the tent's other workspace; for a moment forgetting who here was the flame and who was the parchment. "What was that?" said Leliana and Ellana knew she asked falsely. She merely repeated,

"You took something of mine!"

"A box," said Charter, "perhaps it was the white one."

"Ah yes," said Leliana, "One of my Dalish agents took an interest in it. I let her take it away for study, forgetting it was from your camp, I do apologise."  
Ellana's stomach churned.

"Perhaps I could send a bird for its return," Charter suggested.

"Yes, do that please," said Leliana, "Still it will take some time for her to return. You weren't after anything urgently were you?" she addressed this directly at Ellana.

The young elf could not guess what the human saw in that moment. Her anger bounced against the spy's nonchalance. Still, behind her eyes churned dark red thoughts, some she had seen and grieved, others she longed to see again. Her anger reached its peak as her whole body flushed with heat and the stray powder of mountain snow sizzled at her feet. Suddenly, Leliana's face dropped in alarm.

"Ellana…?" said Leliana, with rising concern.

_Good,_ thought Ellana grimly, _now she's scared!_

"Ellana!" she called again and Ellana was buffeted by a spray of icy water.

"Pfft! Pfft! What the hell!?" she spat and reached to pull away a strand of damp hair from her face. To her left she saw Charter standing wide-eyed, a dripping bucket in hand, and her own arm wreathed in fire from her fingers to her elbow.

She gasped!

Suddenly aflame, Ellana held her own arms out before her but fear fuelled the flames further. Fiery tendrils snaked to her shoulder and dancing embers set new places alite. The parchment went up in smoke and the canvass began to smoulder. Ellana dimly registered the smell of burning meat when she was tackled to the ground. Leliana was on top of her, holding her wrists together against the ground. She removed her hood and sought to smother the flames, but it was no use. Magic played by different rules.

"What by Andraste's flaming sword is going on here!" In the struggle against the flames none noted the commander's entrance. Cullen surveyed the scene. He saw the slight green fissure within the flames and acted. On instinct, without thought, he purged the surrounding area of mana. Nearby mages gasped in shock, but it didn't matter.

The force the fuelled the flames abated and he removed his cloak to cover Ellana and smother the remaining flames. Charter quelled the surrounding fire by smashing frost runes above the paperwork. When long minutes passed Cullen removed himself to disperse the bothersome crowd that had gathered. He reclaimed his cloak. Beneath it lay Ellana, startled and shaking in singed clothing, but safe, if in need of a healer. Leliana sat beside her, one hand rubbing her forehead, the other unmoving from the elf's shoulder. Cullen thought she looked paler and more distressed than she had ever seen her before. Then the spymaster looked up and shot him a looked that clearly pleaded, _What are we going to do?_

Cullen frowned and clenched his jaw.

"You never told us you were a mage," he said when she was well enough to sit.

"I didn't… I couldn't…. I'm not…" Ellana stuttered. She seethed between each word. Mana still had not replenished enough for a healer and Cullen resolved to save the questions till later.

Behind him the templar and mages were quarrelling again. Something about 'templar abuses of manna drain'. He blocked it out. Before him was a whole other matter to contend with.

Magic unchecked.

Magic untrained.

A healer came, and as the healing magic lulled Ellana into sleep Cullen left to find Cassandra.

_Demons,_ thought the commander, _Demons are definitely worse._


End file.
